


Arty's Prompt/Drabble Collection

by daddy_arty



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Cussing, Death, Depression, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Inktober, Inktober 2019, Inktober for Writers, Long, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, References to Depression, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Self Prompt, Short, Short & Sweet, Strong Language, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, The Elements - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt, We Die Like Men, excessive use of curse words, my late night thoughts, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddy_arty/pseuds/daddy_arty
Summary: Whenever the inspiration strikes, I write a drabble about anything and everything, and it goes in here.A collection of prompts, drabbles and random late-night/early-morning thoughts tied with a pretty bow for aesthetics.





	1. Lasagna (Prompt Word)

She hummed a pleasant tune under her breath. It was nice, and airy, like how she spoke. I walked over to her, a soft smile on my lips. I could tell. Everyone told me about it, the sappy kind of way I looked at her. The smile that's reserved only for her. I slid my arms around her waist.  
"What's cooking, good-looking?" I asked teasingly into her hair. She laughed, still dancing and shuffling a bit.  
"Lasagna." She spun around in my arms and kissed me sweetly. I sighed against her lips.  
"My favourite. Any particular occasion?"  
And she just smiled coyly, and didn't say another word.


	2. Gucci (Prompt Word)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friends gave me these prompts yall

"Look at him. He's so fucking obnoxious," I sneered, crossing my arms. Nora raised her brow.  
"Why, do tell, is he 'so fucking obnoxious'?" You know, sometimes I love my best friend, and other times she puts air quotes around my words with an eyeroll.  
"Just- look! At him!" I hissed, waving my arm in his general direction. She looked over, clearly uninterested.  
"You're mad at him... because he's wearing a gucci shirt..."  
"Yes! He has no business looking that stupid wearing it!"  
Nora rolled her eyes. "Just hate fuck already, God damn..."


	3. Jeffrey Star (Prompt Word)

So, it wasn't a secret that I was pretty gay. All the gay. Boys? Never heard of 'em. Don't look twice. Women, on the other hand? Beautiful Goddesses who I worship with every single last atom of my puny mortal being.  
Point is, I'm pretty fucking gay. My brother, on the other hand, is pretty damn straight. In fact, one of the only things we bond over is women. All types of women. Short, tall, skinny, chubby... Love 'em all. 10/10 would bang all of them if given the chance.  
Deciding that I was too starved of attention at the moment, I strut over to his room. Obviously. Nothing like annoying your siblings to make your attention-meter shoot right up, amiright? Anyway. His room has been pretty off limits, so going into his room would definitely annoy the fuck out of him. My God, I'm so smart. I should be given an award.  
"Oh brother of mine-- what the fuck."  
There. There, on the fucking wall opposite me in his room.  
It's a picture of Jeffrey Star. Multiple. Many pictures from many videos in many states of disclothingment.  
Jeffrey fucking Star.  
Well. Time to sit sadly in loneliness while I contemplate my brother's sexuality for him.


	4. Fire (Prompt Word)

Fire. Not something a lot of people like. A fear of many, many people, and the downfall of even more. Fire is dangerous-- it licks up the air like it's starving and laps at your skin like a promise of pain and hurt and desire, of warmth and comfort and escape from the biting frost. It heals as much as it destroys. It brings down kingdoms to their knees and has the masses at its mercy, burns through trees like they're nothing and moves faster than the rivers.  
Fire kills. It fools you with a promise of warmth, but once you get too close, you begin to feel it. You feel the red curl and twist as it turns your skin red to black to blistering patches, as it burns away your hair and fries your flesh into slime and cinders. It burns, oh it burns, so beautifully against the pitch black night and gives you just enough light to see. To see the destruction. To see the chaos. To see the pain.  
Fire heals. It burns your wounds shut better than any scab or thread, faster than a human hand can weave a needle in and out. It brings pain and strife, but it brings comfort. You are not alone it whispers, you don't need to be afraid. I'll light the way and fight the shadows through the night, it says. You believe it.  
Fire can't be controlled. It's an element of nature, ferocious fury and tangling limbs all desperately stretching outward to take and take and take and burn.  
Even so, I could not find a single regret pass through my mind, not a single fleeting thought, as I let the flames consume me.


	5. Death (Prompt Word)

I felt it. I felt the cold, clawing grip crawl up my legs, tearing into my stomach and keeping me in place. I felt the heaviness of my limbs, and let my arms stay limp and my feet drag on the floors when I walked. I felt the frost touch my fingers and hands, even as I held the coffee in them--the cup was hot, but my hands were still cold. I felt it, that night in July, when I was fucking around with my friends late at night and having fun, watching the sun dip below the mountains in the back of a beat-up jeep with a fire burning bright and a thin patchwork blanket covering my legs.

I felt the numbness in my chest, spreading quickly, quicker than what I knew what to do with. I felt nothing that night in July, even though I was sure I was happy, in the end I was just numb. I felt the heat of summer hit my skin, and saw everyone else in short sleeves and short pants, but all I felt was cold. Cold. Bitter, ice cold in the summer where it had nowhere to go but me. My chest, my stomach, my arms and legs and hands and feet, my neck and my face. And I realised, with a twist of my stomach and a knot in my throat, that death wasn't just when a person stopped existing. I stopped living a long time ago,

_and this was just a curtesy._

**Bang**


	6. Fear of Love/Loving Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had some fun with this prompt :>

I stared at him. At his profile. The sharp slope of his nose and soft bumps of his lips, the smooth curve of his jaw and the shaggy, curling strands of gold that framed his face. The bangs that flew in front of his face, and the elegant stretch of his neck from where it peaked from his shirt. I laughed as he blew at his fringe, smiled so sweetly when he turned to glare, and I continued to stare even as he turned back to his notebook. I watched his hands while he wrote, fast little jerks of his wrist that formed words on white lined pages. I watched him tear pretty-looking tape to stick into his journal and laughed quietly when he muttered about how unfair it was that the pages crinkled and folded every time he tried to glue them together.

And it was then that I realised, in that little school library sitting next to him, that I loved him, and that I was falling deeper, deeper, deeper with every passing minute. And it gripped me, sharp and cold because I remember her-- her laugh, her smile, her warm hands on mine and her pretty words as she whispered them into my shoulder, and I wondered if I was ready. If I was ready to take that chance, to take that leap of faith. To trust someone with everything I am and everything I was and everything I ever _will be_ in that moment; if I was ready to take the gamble of bitter betrayal or fading feelings or a storybook ending like I always wanted, if I was ready to truly give myself up again to someone else. And I wondered. And I wondered. And I wondered. And I knew that even if I wondered forever, he would wait for me, always, in that little library, because he would settle for anything I would give him.

So I wondered, and I wondered, and I feared. I feared for love, for him, for me, for _us_ and everything we'll ever be, and I continued to live with that fear. That fear is eternal, and no number of soft looks and gentle touches, of picturesque moments and nights spent in company, would ever be able to stop it.

Take the leap of faith?

Yes. No.


	7. Cold

The rumble of the train calmed me, but it wasn't moving. I let my temple hit the old, dirty window next to me. I knew it was, even if my eyes were frozen closed and my skin was completely numb, because I knew this old, broken train.  
I pried my eyes open, heavy and weighted even though I knew they were light and easy to move. That was the effect of the cold; making everything heavy, tired, making everything seem bitter and mean. I took in a shuddering breath and watched with amusement at the puff of white that came out in its stead.  
So, so cold.  
I was wrapped up in layers, in t-shirts and sweaters and a puffy winter coat on top just in case, wearing tights under leggings under raggedy jeans with two pairs of socks and my dad's old hiking boots, but the cold seemed to pierce through the cotton and fabric. It seemed to cut through the layers, dig under my skin and flesh and settle deep in my bones, a constant reminder that no matter what, icy cold always wins.  
I could feel myself relaxing (why why why am i relaxing why am i relaxing whatisgoingoniwanttogohome-), my arms like lead and my legs too heavy to keep cuddled up to my chest, I let them fall. I let them fall, like the snowflakes fluttering down to rest on my lashes and cheeks from the hole in the roof.  
The bitter cold is freezing, but it becomes gradually hotter, and then it freezes you inside out.  
Until you can't breathe.  
Until you can't think.  
Until you can't move.


	8. Nature

The forest was always so beautiful. The gorgeous greens and lush leaves, pretty posies and twisting vines. The contagious moss and lichen crawling up bark and stone, twigs and branches long fallen obstructing dirt paths and rotting leaves and grass rustling as you walk.  
Nature was always so beautiful. The bright pink and yellow and purple coral giving life and food and shelter to millions of fish and eggs, the tall trees and brush forests covering the globe, from the hot barren deserts to the calming sunny beaches, to the empty caves and unexplored tunnels riddled with mysteries, to even the plain grassy fields and large humpback mountains.  
So, I travelled.  
I soaked in the hot springs in Japan and climbed the mountains in the Alps, I explored the catacombs in France and danced along the plains in Wales, I felt the nipping snow in Russia and swam with the fish in the Caribbean. I ran my fingers across the corals in Australia and basked in the rays of sunlight on a beach in Hawaii, letting the hot sand scorch my feet. I ran and slipped and laughed in the caves and mine shafts in America, and saw the Northern Lights in Greenland. I trekked across the Sahara desert and experienced the full force of the Amazon rain forest in the summer.  
Then I met her.  
Mother Nature, where she hid among her creatures, among her kind. She was beautiful. Her hair as long as her body, coloured in shades of brown and gold in waves like the sea falling down her back. Her eyes were glittering emeralds and her skin was as white as freshly fallen snow, with pretty freckles dotting her cheeks and shoulders.  
Her hands and feet were dark as night, and her figure was modest under the flowing beige gown she wore. It was riddled with leaves and twigs, vines crawling and entwined in the fabric. A pair of jagged, ugly antlers stuck out of her head, supporting flowers and even more leaves in their strong arms.  
And when she turned to me, she smiled, a bit of sweet and a bit of salt, and she said in a strong and low voice,  
_"Found me, have you, boy?"_  
And I was as amazed as I was scared, because Nature may be frightening and unpredictable, but it gets the best of its traits from its mother.


	9. Life - Arty's Depresso Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was in my google docs and it was like,,,, a thought i had and stuff that i wrote about so now im sharing it wit u guys

Life is like… the ocean. Some people are born with advantages that help them, so when they get thrown in, they know exactly what to do and what to expect—they know how to build a raft and hunt for food and how to see in the ocean. They know how to ride the waves and make the waters sing for them. They know how deep they can go and what they should look out for.  
Others who are born with advantages just ignore them. They run from it for as long as possible, even though they know they can ask about how to build a raft, even though they can ask about the dangers of the ocean, even though they can ask about how to ride the waves or steer a boat, they don’t. When they get thrown in, they flail and they try to remember everything they heard and didn’t bother to learn so they don’t get too overwhelmed.  
Some only know a little about the ocean—they know about the animals and they know how to build a raft and they know how to survive in theory—but when they get thrown into it for real, they fumble and shake and panic and tremble while they try to tie up a knot or stay above the water or try to find some kind of clarity in the storm.  
Some people don’t know anything about it. They gasp and they scream and they shout when they get thrown in, trying and failing and trying and failing, but learning to survive and live over time with trial and error. They get better, and they might even learn how to do it better than those born with natural advantages.  
But, others don’t make it. They forget or they try to tough it out and it works for a while, but eventually, they get so tired of kicking and fighting that they go under and drown. They get so overwhelmed and anxious and tired that they stop, only for a moment, and are never seen again.  
There are rules in life—in the ocean—don’t go to the deep end; don’t take long, extended breaks; try not to swallow the ocean water; preserve your resources as best as you can. What category do I fit into it? I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I’m not sure where I stand, but I guess I’m just—I don’t know, bobbing up and down in the water, climbing onto a boat and then falling back into the ocean.  
Sure, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that, someday, I’ll be too tired to keep myself above the water. I’m afraid that a wave will cover me up and that no one will find out until it’s too late. I’m afraid that I’ll never improve or get better, that I’ll just stay barely kicking in the ocean. I’m afraid that one day, ill jump into the deep end, and ill just... fade away and... never come back up.


	10. RP Character Descriptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some char desc that i wrote for an rp im in lmao  
my friends' char are in here, and im just going to be using letters to refer to my friends since idk if they'd rather stay anonymous or if they dont care  
:p enjoy

[Kestrl, C's char]  
He's cold. Emotionless. Kestrl doesn't trust, doesn't give and give and give to people he doesn't see as worthy of his time and effort. He's sneaky, fast, deceptively smart for his age. He's sharp corners on worn gears and the tang of metal grinding on metal day after day after day--he's the taste of blood on tongue and cheek and weird contraptions that come alive at night. He's the sleepless hours of the night, work work work till you drop kind of tired that pulls down on your muscles and hangs under half-lidded eyes. He's the itching feeling of wrong wrong wrong wrong when a single pen is out of place, the screaming anxiety and discomfort when a tool isn't in hand to work and build and create the chaotic plans in mind and lost dreams.  
He's the engineer wearing the skin of a teenager, a human with robotic thoughts. He's the fear, the anger, the despair at losing someone, the shutting down followed by unimaginable grief, throwing yourself into creating, into pushing harder so that no one ever has to die again. He's the creator, the engineer, the smartass with no feelings, and the blunt advocate for a rag-tag group that's pulling and pushing at the seams of a perfectly knit blanket. He's the leader and the creator, but only because he's never been anything else.  
\----  
[Alexander, my oc]  
He's kind. So, so kind, with a compassionate soul and a beautiful smile that paints his face. Except, Alex isn't kind. He wears masks, ornately crafted and perfectly carved by him to fit any situation, thousands of them carefully catalogued in his mind to use whenever he pleases. He's manipulative, using sweet words and sweeter smiles to get you to do what he wants. He's silk and lace on smooth skin and ice-cold on red hot--he's the crash of ocean waves on sandy beaches and the taste of salt that never leaves, the grind of teeth on sand and a type of calm that leaves you restless. He's the beauty of the ocean and the horror beneath the surface, the deep unknown and the darkness that no one wants to touch.  
He's a glacier with the mind of a genius, the kind that learns and learns and learns and observes because he has to survive in a world where anyone without money or status can starve and wilt in the dingy streets. The type of genius that makes you live in constant fear, because if he pretends all day to be someone else, who is he really? He's the determination, the hopelessness of living on the streets and grasping at anything and everything you can to survive, the actor with no personality, and the strict but kind brother for a group of misfits that don't know when to take a break. He's the charmer and the manipulator, but only because that's what he had to be--has to be--to survive.


	11. Chaos, By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short little thing i wrote for an oc verse that never came to fruition

Bell was midnight, dark and dangerous, mysterious, a void with stars sprinkled across his nose. He was dawn, bright and welcoming, soft and comforting, a deep sea with warm eyes. He was dusk, inevitable and cold, familiar yet not, a puzzle with a sharp tongue dripping with half-truths. He was wandering around cities in the dark, walking across thin ledges and reckless skipping to music only he could hear. He was late night talks and early morning kisses, coffee at dawn and cuddling at dusk.  
But he was also drunken arguments. He was acid on skin, burning and painful and destructive. He was low hissing through grinding teeth and purple bruises on porcelain skin, blunt and bold, tender. He was a relentless storm, stubborn and strong, lethal, a whirlwind that sucks you in and spits you back out. But, above all, he was raw and real and raging, a god of chaos in his own right.  
Sijoon was completely and utterly in love with chaos.


	12. You Enter a Dungeon... (scenario prompt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> got given a general prompt in an rp testing channel on discord  
Prompt: you (any oc) enter a dungeon. What do you see? What do you do?  
i wrote this with my dragon-human hybrid oc, Felix!

"Rot in hell, ya bastard."  
The black gate slammed behind the laughing guards. Felix looked around idly before he realised where he was.  
The abandoned dungeon ground under the old castle ruins was far from pretty. The walls were slick with moss and moisture, and he could see where some of the archways had fallen in. Slabs of stone from the ruined walls and ceiling littered the ground, some broken and chipped while others were intact.  
Or, well, from what he could see, anyway. The only light sources were the thin strips of light from the black gate, and a spotlight of sun from where the ground above had sunk down into the dungeon. He could briefly make out some of the doors to the cells and could see a corridor or two behind the archways keeping the place up.  
Felix walked around for a bit, rolling his shoulders a couple of times.  
"Stupid scales... No one asked you to be this annoying..." he mumbled. His voice echoed in the darkness. Felix waved his arms around blindly for a bit before his hands landed on something wet and slimy.  
"Ew, gross. What the..." He felt around a bit, moving around to see if he could get a good look at what he was touching.  
"Moss?! Thank God it's moss."  
He slid his hand across, sometimes touching cold stone, and other times it was the wet moss. His fingers bumped against something. He felt around for a bit, before deciding it was a stone door frame.  
Felix trailed his fingers along the door frame blindly, squinting. He could very barely make out some lines, and a knocker-like door handle. He dove for it, fumbling around it, and then yanking the door open.   
An acrid smell hit his face, making him stumble back away from it. He slipped and fell, but kept his hands around his nose to try to block it out.  
"Jesus Christ, what is that?" He gagged. The smell made his eyes water. He couldn't get rid of it, it was so strong he could practically taste it on his tongue. It was stale and dying, some kind of rotting meat that made his stomach flip at the thought.  
Felix crawled towards the open door (thank God it opened out and not in... He didn't want to go in there, where he was sure the smell was stronger) and pushed it closed. He refused to let himself breathe in until he was far away from the room.  
He wandered for a bit longer, but he didn't get far before there was no light at all and he had to crawl on the floor so he didn't trip over something.  
"This is some fucking bullshit," he sang quietly.  
Felix hummed something else under his breath while he crawled around.  
And then he hit his head on a wall.  
"Ow, hssssssss." He really did not like it here. Figures he'd do something to piss off the royal guards and get himself stuck in a dungeon of all places. Not to mention he had a photoshoot to get to tomorrow. He's been waiting for this model to be free for months, dammit, and she's the perfect one for his 'shades of October' theme! If he doesn't get out of here by tonight, he's going to start a riot!


	13. On a Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the "on a train" prompt :pp  
i used my two OCS, Azriel and Licht, for this prompt  
they're both from this fantasy/magic rp i was in with my friend K but i've been thinking of making the rp into a story since it would work really well as one but i havent really written anything for it yet so

Azriel fixed the sunglasses perched on his nose and sighed. He was wearing a simple semi-formal get-up, unlike Licht, who was wearing sweats and a wife beater.  
"They're expecting us to be there for the meeting. Not for a college party," Azriel told him with an eye roll.  
"Y'know, I don't even need to see your eyes to know you just rolled them at me."  
"That's the point."  
The train rolled in. It was riddled with runes and protection spells, and it levitated above the ground. The two of them boarded, with Azriel taking both of their bags while Licht took their suitcases.  
"I seriously wonder why I bother with you sometimes."  
Licht waved him off with a hum and looked around before he found an unoccupied carriage. He walked in and slid the suitcases above the seats.  
"These are kind of like those trains in really old, retro movies, right? With the carriages and stuff."  
Azriel shook his head. "Yes. You do know we're using a business train, right? They all have these carriages. And soundproofing."  
Licht turned to grin at him with a cheeky wink. He sat down, his green hair bouncing as he did.  
"Finally!" he exclaimed, "ugh, I thought we'd _never_ get to sit down!"  
The warlock sat across from him after sliding the door closed. He raised a brow but didn't say much else. The bags, which were on the floor by the door, slowly floated up to the storage space above the seats. Licht gawked.  
"You mean I didn't even need to put the suitcases up?!"  
"Geez, Li, how long has it been since you've ridden on a train?"  
The green-haired boy pouted and looked away out of the window. The rumble of the train filled the silence between them.  
_"Attention, passengers. We are now activating the speed spells--please refrain from eating or drinking anything for the next two hours. Thank you!"_  
"I really don' understand how you can go through this, like, every week."  
The rumble of the train was no more, replaced with a sharp whistling sound until only the whip of the air they were cutting through was the only sound.  
"I mean, seriously. This just sounds." Licht paused, crinkling his nose. "Exhausting."  
Azriel rolled his eyes again, taking off his sunglasses and sliding one of the arms of the glasses into his shirt pocket. He took on a more relaxed pose.  
"My uncle leaves all the business stuff to me. I make the public appearances, play nice when need be, and generally make sure school doesn't go up in flames. He always has, ever since I said I wanted to do..." He trailed off. "Well, you know that, anyway."  
Licht cocked his head to the side but nodded in understanding. "I don' know if I'd ever be able to do this kind of thing."  
Azriel smiled. "That's why you take on most of the field missions. You bet your ass I'd be out there finishing them all one by one if I wasn't already this busy."  
They both laughed at that, and their smiles lingered after.  
"What's this about, anyway?"  
"He didn't fill you in?" Azriel asked. "Of course he wouldn't... We're meeting up with the Duke of Empshire, Licht."  
His eyes widened. "Seriously?! Dude, that's like..." He waved his arms around. "Huge!"  
"I know."  
"No! You don't! 'Riel, this guy is like, the head of the military! Of the Royal Guard! He makes sure all the S, SS, and SSS rank missions get taken care of! He's in the highest position of political power right under the Grand--" Licht looks around for a moment, before hissing out, "the Grand Master!"  
"I know." Licht started to stand.  
"Azriel, are you seriously telling me-- ow!!" Licht curled in on himself, clutching his head. The warlock rolled his eyes.  
"Now you've done it, you big idiot."  
"Shut up!"  
"Only you would find a way to injure yourself on a train. Let me see--"  
"Ow, stop touching it, it hurts--!"  
"Stop complaining you big baby--"  
"Why don't _you_ hit your head on some hardwood--"  
"I'm not a fucking hellion, that's why--"  
"That's offensive! My great aunt Shira was a hellion--!"  
_"Attention, all passengers. We will be arriving at our destination shortly. Please leave your cabins in an orderly fashion."_  
The two of them stopped arguing. Azriel frowned.  
"That was quick. Surely, two hours couldn't have gone by that quickly."  
"Who cares? Let's go!" Licht whined.  
Azriel ignored him and slid open the door to their carriage. He waved over one of the workers and made some small talk before asking for the details of the ride.  
"Licht."  
"Yes?"  
"We got on the wrong train."


End file.
